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An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.
William Shakespeare
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William Shakespeare
Age: 51 †
Born: 1564
Born: April 26
Died: 1616
Died: April 23
Actor
Dramaturge
Playwright
Poet
Stage Actor
Writer
Stratford-upon-Avon
Warwickshire
Shakespeare
The Bard
The Bard of Avon
William Shakspere
Swan of Avon
Bard of Avon
Shakespere
Shakespear
Shakspeare
Shackspeare
William Shake‐ſpeare
Heart
People
Habitation
Giddy
Unsure
Vulgar
Hath
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Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .
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...an old man is twice a child.
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Now, by the world, it is a lusty wench I love her ten times more than e'er I did: O, how I long to have some chat with her!
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Man, proud man, drest in a little brief authority, most ignorant of what he's most assur d, glassy essence, like an angry ape, plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, as make the angels weep.
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When Death doth close his tender dying eyes.
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Conscience doth make cowards of us all.
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There live not three good men unhanged in England and one of them is fat and grows old.
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O the world is but a word were it all yours to give it in a breath, how quickly were it gone!
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He that is strucken blind can not forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
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To be, or not to be, that is the question.
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I do beseech you- Though I perchance am vicious in my guess , that your wisdom yet From one that so imperfectly conjects Would take no notice, nor build yourself a trouble Out of his scattering and unsure observance.
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What's the news? None, my lord, but that the world's grown honest, Then is doomsday near.
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Neither my place, nor aught I heard of business, Hath raised me from my bed nor doth the general care Take hold on me for my particular grief Is of so floodgate and o'erbearing nature That it engluts and swallows other sorrows, And it is still itself.
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My father's wit, and my mother's tongue, assist me!
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A great cause of the night is lack of the sun.
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There are no tricks in plain and simple faith.
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It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.
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The sweets we wish for, turn to loathed sours, Even in the moment that we call them ours.
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What freezings I have felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere!
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Women being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the walls.
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